We can enjoy the snow
by klylu
Summary: Somebody’s dreaming of a white Christmas
1. the beginning

Genre: humor, holiday fic  
Rating: PG  
Status: It's meant to be a standalone, but i'll post it in two parts

Setting & Spoilers: that's the first x-mas together for the boys. Since i thought this story before AVSC, i guess it kinda goes off canon.

A/N: that's my first time as a Secret Santa. And Amy is the lucky one... lol. Poor baby. I just know she's been a good little girl all year long... and this is what she gets? Ouch! But I did my best, honey :D

A/N2: this fic was first posted at www. supernaturalatlantis . amuseingwriters . co . ux / index ... if you like SN and/or the stargate universe, go check!

A/N3: LilMissWinchester is the gentle soul that beta'd this fic! thank you so much Kristi... :D

Disclaimer: if they were mine, I'd be the best Secret Santa. Ever!

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Christmas. It was the season for steaming cups of hot chocolate, and for snuggling under thick, warm blankets. For woollen gloves and snow-ball fights. Stormy weather and pine trees decorated with handmade ornaments, candles and angels on top.

Sam slowly rested his forehead on the window pane of his motel room, and sighed. He was looking at a bunch of teens passing by, a slight grimace on his face. Most of them wore sunglasses, probably to look cool. But really, the bright sun almost required them. And the girls were showing generous amounts of skin thanks to low cut jeans, barely there tops and light jackets. There were flowers blossoming all around and… it just felt wrong.

"California sucks" Sam muttered, clearly taking as a personal affront all that un-Chrimassy atmosphere. That mild, temperate climate was grating on his nerves like an itch. If he only could convince Dean…

"California rocks, dude!"

Right on cue, Sam's big brother barged into the room, still grinning like a fool.

"Man, I really should have thanked those ghosties. Right before wasting them, I mean. If it wasn't for them, we could have been still stuck in that hole, under feet of snow, freezing our asses off!"

Dean reached his bro, handing him a beer. He turned to look out of the window, and completely missed Sam's longing expression as he mentioned the snow. His eyes focused on the same youths, and he smiled appreciatively.

"Yeah, that's it. Generous amounts of tanned, feminine skin exposed just for you under the bright sun. Nice Christmas gift, uh?"

"Well, it's not like we have time to enjoy all this, you know?"

"We don't? Why? We deserve some rest now!" Dean exclaimed, suddenly frustrated. Sam could see his brother forcefully dragging his eyes from the enticing bronzed skin to his own face, already glaring.

He almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost. But he wanted his white Christmas, even if that meant playing dirty.

"Come on Dean. This was an easy gig, and you know it. We don't have excuses to hang in bars drinking cocktails when evil awaits!"

"Great, just great. I've got a patronizing killjoy as a brother now. So? Shoot. What kind of evil is looming over us?"

"Well, I don't know for sure yet."

"You're not even sure? Come on, dude!"

"Okay, just listen now…" Sam turned into weirdo encyclopaedia man once again, showing Dean the results of his latest research. Mainly, weather bulletins and detailed local forecast. Of some unknown place called Jacobville.

Jacobville? That was enough. With the most serious and snotty tone he could muster, Dean interrupted his brother's monologue.

"So… do tell me, bro. All this money dad and I spent for your higher education, and you wanted to be a freakin' weatherman?"

"… and that's never happened in— huh? Oh, stop that and be serious!"

"I was!"

"And listen!"

"Again, I was."

When Sam just glared, Dean rolled his eyes and made a short recap, in a dull monotone that he knew would totally piss off his younger brother.

"There's this little town, in sunny California that, guess what, it's not sunny anymore. It's snowy. Oh my god, snowy! In December! How strange is that?"

"You're such a bitch, you know? And it _is_ strange!"

"Yeah, maybe. But global warming strange, not our kind of strange!"

"Oh yes? And how do you call mind control? Memories erased or better, altered? Brainwashing?"

"By who? Frosty the Snowman? You lost me there, dude."

"Jacobville is just a spot in the map. Actually, a pretty isolated spot on the map. It's not like they have a local weatherman, or that someone at a regional level talked about this. _Nobody_ talked about this. Like there's nothing strange or unusual to report."

"But you notice this because..."

"Internet. And by chance. I wasn't even really looking at the weather forecast... it was like with the horoscope, you know, when you read it but not really read it, and something—"

"The horoscope? Are you kidding me?" Dean chuckled. He just couldn't let that pass without commenting, no way. He was, after all, the older brother.

"And" Sam said forcefully, "it was like 'Fresno, 58° F. San Francisco, 60° F. Los Angeles, 65° F. Jacobville, 27° F. San Diego, 70° F'. I thought it was a typo... until I found the same 'typo' in all the main motor search."

"Still failing to see something here, Sammy..." Dean said. "Okay, I get it. It's unusual. But not enough for us. What about the brainwashing thing?"

"I made a few calls. Just to check, ya know? People that have been there, like a few truck drivers for deliveries – special deliveries caused by these strange weather conditions, mind you - and two workers that went to check a gas pipe for a major leak. I talked to all of them, and again, everything seemed normal. Except for the fact that there was snow, and nobody mentioned that as something out of the ordinary. They were like 'oh nice trip blah blah blah yes, there was snow, blah blah blah, and people from Jacobville are so friendly!' I didn't notice till the third phone call, Dean... they kept telling me the same thing, with the same cheerful tone. Like every one of them had enjoyed working overtime so near the holiday, that exhausting drive in awful conditions, and a long and boring phone interview with a nosy student. And they went to Jacobville, not to Pleasantville!"

"You know, you almost convinced me. Especially at the nosy student part. Were they still happy after that? Really?" Dean asked with a mocking tone, earning half a glare and half a pout from his brother.

"Okay, you got bad weather. And people high on something. That's all?"

"We had even less sometimes, Dean!" Sam countered, unable to keep the child-like quality out of his voice. "And this could be a..."

"...an evil creature bent on making people happy?" Dean ended for him.

"Fine. Fine!" Sam grumbled. He finished his beer in three long draughts, and then trashed the bottle in the bin, slamming the lid for good measure. Not that the plastic lid made much noise, but he was trying to make a point there.

After stomping around a little, he finally faced his bro, who had watched him with an amused expression the whole time.

"So, we going or not?" Sam asked, exasperated.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, and answered casually: "We're going." Then he lazily turned to the bed to pack his things, when a sudden thought crossed his mind, making him snap his head towards his brother.

"But the driver seat is mine till the last flake is around, gotcha?"

Sam just rolled his eyes at the deadly serious tone of his brother, and murmured a "Deal, man" under his breath.

He got what he wanted, to get away from that awfully sunny weather that clashed horribly with his Christmas spirit. And if that ruined Dean's desire to ogle California girls, so be it. In the end, it was all Dean's fault if that was Sam's favorite holiday. Not that he was gonna tell him out loud.

"Sam? You're done?"

"Almost."

"Okay, me too. Listen... you won't get all mopey on me when your theory of a brainwashing snowman demon melt under the sun, uh?"

"Nope."

"Even if we don't meet even a small family of yeti?"

"Nope, smartass."

"How come? You don't like to be wrong."

"Oh, come on! That's _you_!"

Dean laughed. Maybe the kid was right, that sounded just like him. Why not acknowledged that?

"Bitch", declared Dean opening the door, while smirking at him.

"Jerk", Sam answered back, affectionately. He followed his brother to the Impala, but before sitting in, he held Dean's stare over the car's roof for a second.

"Well, if there is nothing wrong, no weather demon or brainwashed people..." he shrugged, and trailed off, with a slow smile forming on his lips, "at least we'll enjoy the snow".

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The road trip was quiet and uneventful. As the designated shotgun, Sam could enjoy the drive and lose himself in his thoughts. Dean could act like a Grinch these days, but Sam remembered quite well the Winchester traditions at Christmas. Unfailingly, their father would be on a hunt, while he and Dean holed up in the usual, stinky motel room, never the same, always looking like the previous one.

When they were kids, Dean celebrated that holiday with his own version of Christmas dinner, pizza and ice-cream. And every time there was a tree. Or something that resembled a tree. It could be plastic, or too much brownish for an evergreen. Once they had a whole branch. Sam would color balls and angels and Santa Clauses on a color book, while Dean made hot chocolate. They'd hang up their paper decorations, and when they were done, Dean gave him a present.

Dean's presents had obscure origins... come to think of it, just as their trees. But if there were theft or scavenger hunts behind those, Sam didn't really want to know.

Once he had asked Dean, though. When he was big enough to notice how strange it was for their dysfunctional family to have trees, decorations and presents, maybe stolen or worse, but there nonetheless every 24th of December, he had asked his brother.

"Cuz Mum loved Christmas", was Dean's clipped answer. When he didn't elaborate, Sam hadn't prodded. 'Mum' was one of those topics, maybe _the_ topic, that could made his brother's temper flare up like nothing else.

Then, Sam became too big for coloring, and they spent the night quietly watching a game, drinking coffee and later, beers.

Sam never realized the true meaning of those words till the first year he spent Christmas alone, in college. Actually, he wasn't literally alone. There was a bunch of people who couldn't make it home for the holiday. A few of them were even more than acquaintances, but something closer to friends. And the tree was a real one. Bright green, tall, richly decorated.

That night, drinking eggnog and exchanging gifts with other fellow students, he felt awfully alone. He missed Dean's crooked trees and weird presents. He missed having his big brother around, bossy, overprotective and caring at the same time. And he resented him deeply, for silently siding with his father the day he left, for making him care for a stupid holiday that had no meaning at all when you don't have a family around. Not even a dysfunctional one.

Now he was on the road again, the college years almost a faded memory. He wasn't sure if that life still awaited him, and in any case, he doubted that he could be the same man again. That part of Sam had died with Jessica, that dreadful night.

He still remembered vividly the fire, the flames, the blinding hot that scorched his skin. Most of all, he remembered how he suddenly felt numb, and cold inside, not caring for his own life.

Dean had dragged him out of the burning house, once again.

Dean, who was always there when his family needed him, whatever that could cost to his soul. Even if that meant choosing his father over his brother, when it was painful obvious to anyone who cared to look deep enough, that it was John who was the more vulnerable of the two. Or, if that meant allowing his little bro to feel the magic of Christmas, no matter if he would have to remember heartbreaking memories of a past that was dead forever. Memories that even their fearless father wouldn't face.

That was why Sam wanted Christmas again. Not just for himself, but for Dean as well. Because neither of them was alone anymore. He was already dreaming of a white Christmas when the purring of the Impala, and the soothing voice of his brother who was singing off-beat Peace of Mind by Boston, lulled him to sleep.

Sam woke up with a start when two things penetrated his fuzzy mind. First, he was freezing all over. His feet were numb, and his head was resting on what felt more like a block of ice than the side of the Impala. Nothing strange in that, considering that a thick layer of snow covered everything but the road in front of them.

The corners of his mouth turned up, while he took in their surroundings. The snow that kept falling faster and faster, and the ordinary landscape turned into an eerie scenery that matched perfectly his Christmas spirit. Dean could be happy or not, but—

All of a sudden, Sam remembered the second thing, and turned abruptly towards his brother.

"What..." he exclaimed, and then stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

"What what, sleeping beauty? Yes, I did realize it's snowing. I kinda notice it since, you know, I'm driving and all..."

"It's not that! It's..." Sam was too stunned, and for once words escaped him. His hand went to the dashboard, in a desperate attempt to make him see. To make him _listen_.

Dean's gaze followed his brother confused wave, till he saw the radio. And listened to it.

To a blaring Christmas carol.

Realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and the tip of his ears turned an impressive shade of crimson.

"It's... it's not..." he stammered, and Sam sighed in relief. It wasn't just him, then.

With a swift movement, Dean switched off the offending device. "We're there, anyway", he muttered.

They drove the last miles in silence, the awkwardness quickly forgotten as they finally reached the town limits. The sunlight was already fading, and the Christmas lights that were all over the place were becoming brighter and brighter, creating a sharp contrast with the snow and the falling darkness.

A cup of hot coffee and directions to the nearest motel to spend the next few nights in were priorities for the boys, since the long ride had completely frozen their limbs.

After parking next to a sledge, Dean and Sam entered a diner. Dangling bells greeted them, soon followed by a motherly looking, chubby waitress.

"Come in, boys!" she exclaimed perkily. "Come and warm up a little bit. What can I get you?" she asked, after guiding them to a table.

"What about steaming hot coffee? That would be awesome, Martha" said Dean, squinting at the name tag and turning on the charm. From his personal experience, he had learnt that there are kinds of people, like waitress of the local diners for instance, or bartenders, that tend to know bits and pieces of everything and everyone, in small town like this. And sometimes, they just knew better.

"Oh you!" she exclaimed, dismissing him with a chuckle. She returned with their order after few minutes, and Sam asked her about accommodations.

"Oh my, I happen to know the best place here in Jacobville!" Martha cried out. "That must be your lucky days, children. Listen, do you have a car?" Barely taking a breath, and not actually giving them the time to answer, the woman went on, clearly happy to be able to help two lost boys. "Well, leave it here in the parking lot. On the other side of it there's a park, maybe you've seen it, because one of the entrances is just there. You just have to go through it: the old part of the town is on the other side. And the Dashing Vixen's Inn will be right in front of you. It's small and cosy, and run by the kindest family I've ever met. You can't wish for more, I promise!"

The guys couldn't help smiling at Martha's enthusiastic words, and when she offered to call the Inn to advise for their late arrival, they nodded their agreement.

Before facing once again the chilling weather outside, they sat peacefully a little longer, sipping their hot chocolate. In point of fact, it's a widespread knowledge that nothing could warm up a battered soul as chocolate does.

It was late when they left the diner, but in the park people still lingered. There were a few families out for an evening stroll, and young couples scattered in the most secluded spots. Sam and Dean walked in the soft snow along a row of pines, with the little pond on their right, as instructed by Martha.

They turned simultaneously when they heard the muffled sounds of a young boy that came running, and suddenly realized the small drama that was bound to happen.

A little girl appeared from nowhere right in front of the runner, leaving him with hardly any options. Actually, knocking the toddler, swerving to the right, with no chance to avoid a chilling bath in the frozen pond, or to the left, impacting hard into Dean's solid chest. Unluckily for him, the third option seemed the less evil, and he grunted in pain as he tried to keep his balance while steadying the boy.

"Watch out, kid!" Dean hissed, catching his breath.

Said kid, who seemed to be standing up only thanks to Dean's hand still firmly clasping his shoulder, locked his bright blue eyes with his. The hand that was gingerly touching his cheekbone, tracing the big bruise already visible on his fair skin, stopped mid movement, and he glared.

"I'm not a kid", he said defiantly, his chin jutting up.

The brothers looked at each other, then back at the boy. He appeared to be fourteen or fifteen years old, maybe not quite tall but lithely built. His whole body hummed with barely contained energy and joyfulness, the latter clearly showing on his finely chiselled face. Pout and shiner notwithstanding.

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes, while memories of a stubborn older brother that claimed himself to be the 'responsible adult' when he didn't even know the existence of razors and aftershaves filled his mind.

"Yeah, sure!" exclaimed Dean, arching his brow. Then he added, smirking: "Whatever, _kid_."

That earned a snort for the kid in question, who shrugged his shoulder and wriggled free from Dean's now light grip.

"Since you're old enough, I thought you already knew not to judge by appearances..." he said with a wise, lecturing voice that clearly was only meant to piss off his interlocutors.

"But don't worry" he added insolently, patting light Dean's arm in a paternal way. "You'll learn!"

For a second, the mirth shone on the rosy cheeks, and deep blue eyes sparkled with laughter. Then, without waiting for the guys to even think of a comeback he sprinted away effortlessly. He turned though, right before disappearing behind the trees, and stuck his pink tongue to them, replacing a more conventional good-bye.

"Cheeky brat!" Dean muttered, resuming his stroll towards the Inn. Sam soon followed, half amused and half annoyed by the kid's impertinence.

It was almost ten thirty p.m. on the 20th of December when the Winchester brothers finally reached the Dashing Vixen's Inn, that would be 'home' for the first Christmas they were going to spend together after that long separation.

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"So... the usual boring stuff now?" Crunch. "Research and all?" Crunch, crunch.

It was late morning when the guys finally came out of their room to have breakfast, but the bedcovers were so warm and inviting that they had to physically fight their own unwillingness to get up, and find the courage to expose their butts to the chilling morning air.

Luckily for them, the little breakfast room had a wonderful fireplace, and now they were happily gobbling up their milk and the tray full of gingerbread men and houses that Amy, their host's young daughter, had given them. The cookies were just baked, so that their delicious smell lingered in the air, and the brother scorched their fingers lightly, in the haste of tasting them.

"Has anybody ever told you that you shouldn't talk while eating, Dean?" said Sam, adding the customary roll-eyeing.

"Of course. You. A gazillion times." Crunch. "And don't you know Santa's not going to bring any presents to annoying kids, Sammy?" Dean countered back, with another quite loud crunch to emphasize his point.

"It's Sam. And I'm not a kid. And it's naughty, not annoying!" his brother grumbled, if only for the sake of it. In Dean's eyes, he would always be Sammy, no matter what. Of course, in the rare moments when he was completely honest with himself, he could admit he kinda liked it. It was comforting. And it fell under the natural order of things. The sun shines, the earth rotates. And Sammy was Dean's little brother.

Obviously, another plain truth was that Sam would never, ever be that honest with his older brother. Not ever under torture.

"Just stop complaining every time Dean, okay? There will be researching, we'll hit the local library and I'll surf the net, then probably footwork to look for I don't remember what. So, be a good boy, for once, and call Amy. The girl said she was going to the library to fetch some books cuz she's writing a paper on 'life's twists' or something. She'll lead us there."

Dean muttered something that sounded like 'I'm always good', then got up and said, louder this time, "I'm going. See? That's me. Going. Bossy bitch!"

Sam just smiled and finished polishing his plate, while his bro went looking for their guide.

Dean was really trying hard to maintain the sulking expression at being ordered around by his little brother, but everyone was clearly plotting around him.

First, the dog. Welcoming him in the private part of the Inn, where the owners lived. Barking joyfully, wagging his tail and licking his hands, like a good guard dog should _not_ do with strangers.

The granny led him inside, and showed him the way. Not without filling his pockets with candy.

He met Mr Dickens near the stairs. The man had answered Martha's phone call the evening before, and kindly offered him a place for his car in the Inn's little garage. After discovering that said car was an Impala, his first love, he and Dean squealed over their babies like crazy fan girls.

Dean had completely forgotten that Sam was waiting for him, being too much engrossed in the conversation. Suddenly, a big cat jumped on his lap, purring contentedly. Amy's cat, Mr Dickens told him. He remembered then, and with actual regret excused himself and went to the girl's room.

He knocked on the door and waited patiently, unsurprisingly in a good mood now. Well, obviously he only needed tail-wagging dogs, candy, Impala lovers and purring cats to improve his day.

Since the door was ajar, he had already spotted Amy. The girl had brought a hand to her face, maybe to wipe away a tear.

After meeting the merry family though, he wasn't prepared for a moping teenager sitting dejectedly near the window. Not that the girl didn't covered it up with a fake smile and way too shrilly "Oh, that's you! I'm ready. Let's go now, shall we?"

Dean followed her to the entrance, where he waited for her to pull on her coat. He could see Sam on the first floor, talking with the lady of the house, and decided to wait for him outside.

Maybe the cold would clear his head. He was feeling the strange need to comfort the girl, to tell her something, anything, that could brighten those sad hazel eyes. He just had to share his good mood.

Dean wasn't half bad with kids. He didn't even know how, but he usually managed with them. And adult women? Let's not even begin talking about it.

But teenagers... You can't make sexual innuendos with girls that age. And offering them candy? That was even worse. Even Dean knew that.

Sam, his only hope as the king of pansy stuff to say at the right time, was taking his damn time to show up.

Dean sighed, then blurted a "What's up?" that was clearly the best thing he could have mustered. Yeah, emotional stuff. His favorite subject.

"Huh?"

"Well... everyone seems happy around here. And you're not. So... what's up?"

_Smooth Dean, real smooth. __At least, don't let her see how stupid you're feeling right now. Nod slightly, and maintain eye contact, just like that. _

It was Amy who glanced away in the end, muttering "It's nothing", in a barely audible voice.

"No, it's not."

"It's stupid."

"Well, maybe."

Amy's eyes fixed on Dean once again, and then she glared. "That's really helpful, thank you so much!"

"I'm _trying_ to help, but I didn't know it meant lying!" Dean shouted, exasperated. He was trying, damnit!

Amy's anger suddenly deflated, and she laughed humorlessly. "Apparently, yes. It does. Last month my mum overheard my comments about a present my girlfriend received for her birthday. I lied to her, cuz she liked it so much and I didn't want to ruin her happiness, you know?"

"What's bad in that?"

"They do say lying is bad. And they're right. Cuz I'll be lying again once again this Christmas, when I receive the same creepy antique doll. My mum will be happy. But I won't get what I really want, cuz clearly I've been a bad girl, with all this lying around."

"I feel like I should tell you something about the importance of being honest but... it escapes me right now."

That earned a sad smile from the girl. "Well, it doesn't really matter. If mom's happy..."

"... you'll be happy too. I know how it feels like. Anyway, what do you really want?"

"Anything but a creepy doll?"

"Good choice. Dolls could be possessed, and you never know what their hair is made of, and..." Dean trailed off, but seeing Amy's narrowed brows he added, hastily, "just kidding! So, no dolls."

"Nope. DVD's maybe?" Amy shrugged, like she didn't really care. "There's this show, for instance. About this girl? A beautiful girl, genetically empowered. She was made in a lab, you know?"

"A beautiful girl, genetically empowered? Well, that could be my fave show too!" Dean said, grinning.

"And she can majorly kick ass..."

"Could she? Like I said, my show. Oh, look. My brother, finally. Let's go. But I wanna know more. Does she have black hair, or..."

Dean smiled, while Amy told him everything about her heroine. He was doing great with this comforting thing, wasn't he? And even without Sam's help. Amy's sadness was almost completely forgotten. Almost.

"And the only guy around is this Loggie something? He seems pretty boring if you asked me." Dean said casually.

"Well, no. There's, you know, Alec. He's pretty cool, and he has lips to die for and the most amazing ey—" Amy's eyes went big as saucers, as soon as she realized that she wasn't talking with one of her classmates. No, she was gushing over her crush with the hottest guest they had in forever. So she clamped her mouth shut, and simply stared.

Dean just chuckled at her deer in the headlight expression, the sadness totally replaced with a complete awkwardness.

Mission accomplished.

TBC


	2. the end

Mission accomplished.

Luckily for the young girl, the library was just a few hundred yards away, so she mutely indicated it to Dean. Before making a mad dash towards safety, Amy managed to smile a little at her handsome tormenter, and to wave at his brother, who was lazily strolling behind them.

A few minutes later, Sam and Dean were comfortably seated in two old armchairs, in a cozy and peaceful reading area. Sam was heavily concentrated on ''Twas the Night Before Christmas', while Dean was quietly reading 'A Christmas Carol'. On the table in front of them, a nice librarian had piled up several books that would help the brothers in their research: 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas', 'Christmas with Paula Deen: Recipes and Stories from My Favorite Holiday', 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' and many others.

Skipping lunch while learning everything about cranberry sauce, turkey and stuffing and potatoes, and hot pumpkin pie and eggnog was particularly hard for Dean, and he proposed a break around 2.00 p.m. Since Martha's diner was near, they decided to go there for a coffee and a piece of cake, and then drive the Impala to the Inn's garage.

"So, you got anything?" Sam asked his brother, while they were heading to the diner.

"Not much. That Jacob Marley guy? Same name of the town", Dean answered thoughtfully, while he stopped near a beautiful animal of a Mounted Police patrol, "but it's only a coincidence, I guess. You?" he asked back. Dean was petting the soft muzzle of the reindeer, who clearly appreciate it and was happily nuzzling his jacket.

"Well, the Grinch does seem a pretty bad one. But it doesn't fit in this scenario. And then, he had a change of heart." Sam sighed and shook his head lightly, sending snowflakes everywhere. "We're back at square one Dean. Actually, we never left square one. Oh, whatever. Let's go and eat some pie, 'kay?"

"Sure, bro. And you..." he added, with a last pat on the inquisitive nose, "watch do you put that muzzle of yours, all right, fuzzy?"

Martha was very happy to see them again, and ecstatic to know that they were enjoying their staying at the Dashing Vixen's.

"Oh boys, I'd really love to chat with you a little longer, but today I've asked a few hours to go shopping. I've got lots of presents to buy, and I'm exhausted just thinking about it!"

In spite of her words, Martha's eyes were twinkling with joy, with only a thought that ruined her complete happiness. How could she leave these poor children alone, while they faced the dangers of a small diner?

"Rudolph!" she suddenly shouted, startling everyone within five miles radius. A skinny punk poked his head out the kitchen's door: his hair was cut into an impossible green Mohawks, he wore black ripped jeans held together by safety pins and had headphones stuck in his ears. Considering that Last Christmas was blaring so loud that could be heard everywhere in the premises, Martha's cry had been totally justified.

"Rudolph, my dear... Can you take care of my boys since I must leave now, can't you? Bring them..." Martha looked questioningly at her protégées.

"Coffee, please. And do you have apple pie?" Sam asked.

"Of course, sweetie! The best in town!" Martha turned, and repeated the brothers' order to Rudolph. Then she bear hugged each of them, wishing to see them once again before Christmas, and in a blur she was gone.

Rudolph appeared after a few minutes, bringing them two steaming cups and two slices of cake. He was listening to the Otis Redding's version of 'White Christmas' now.

"Best in town, for ya", he told them, smiling and bobbing his head to the music.

Sipping their hot chocolate, and munching their Fruitcake, the guys couldn't help to agree.

Once again, they left the diner with a warm feeling that lingered on their souls.

After leaving the Impale safe and sound in the garage, Dean and Sam went out again. There were just a few hours of light left, and neither of them wanted to waste them staying home.

Since their research at the library had lead to nothing, they hoped some legwork would have better results. And they were right.

Without any notice of the impending doom, cries of pain overwhelmed the quiet murmurs of the town people, who still busied the street.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, sharing the same thought. Then they sprinted towards the source of the anguished cries, bodies and minds ready to venture into the unknown. Ready to do what they did best: saving people, hunting things. The family business.

But nothing in their huge and extraordinaire experience had prepared them to face that macabre display. As soon as they hit the park, the Winchester brothers were caught in the middle of the bloodiest combat either of them had ever seen.

Bodies of children and young kids lay scattered everywhere, torn and battered. A few survivors were trying to seek cover from fire, but they were clearly outnumbered, and their destiny was already set.

It was a dreadful scene, that could have scared to death the toughest hunter. Much to their credit though, Sam and Dean entered the fray without a single thought for their own safety.

In those precious moments in which the enemy stalled, trying to evaluate the new fighters, Dean redeployed the kids still standing out of the line of fire, showing them the better places were they could build fortresses and walls.

Sam helped the injured to reach safe positions, behind trees or benches, where they could help preparing ammunition.

After the initial shock in fact, their opponents reacted with a fresh outbreak of violence. Enraged that the fate of the battle was once again at stake, they showed no mercy.

But this time, the counterattack was fierce and vicious.

For hours, they fought using fair means or foul, but neither side seemed to get the upper hand. It got darker and darker, but nobody cared. They'd have gone on forever. Until the last man stood. Until... a desperate cry that stilled everyone.

"Oh my god! It's 7.00 already! Mom's gonna skin me alive if I'm late for dinner again!"

Suddenly, the chaos broke free. Two armies of lethal soldiers, joined by dead ones mystically risen again, turned into panicking kids and teen-agers.

"Do you think I can sneak into my room before someone notice how wet I am?"

"Can't believe I forgot! We have guests tonight..."

"Have you seen a pink glove? Please, have anyone seen it?"

"No way I can dry my hair before dinner, no way!"

"Ehi guys... thanks for saving our butts!"

"Yeah, we wouldn't had made it so far without your help!"

"See ya, then?"

"Bye."

"Bye!"

Sam and Dean waved back, smiling proudly. In their line of work in fact, it was a rare occurrence to be thanked for their sacrifices and dedication.

After the last kid had run home, they stood there a little while, lying down on the snow and looking at the starry sky. They were soaked to the bone, but the adrenaline still running through their veins kept them from feeling the cold.

Hands down, that had to be the most epic snow fight ever happened in the word. More than ever, since that was California.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was late afternoon when Sam finally stretched lazily, his body pliant and warm under the covers. The nap had been wonderful, the best he had in... decades, probably? Yeah, he could extol out loud the merits of a refreshing sleep right now, without blushing, no less.

Of course, it helped that he was alone in the room.

After lunch, Dean had murmured something unintelligible (Sam had caught a few words, like 'errands', 'next city' and 'local DVD stores suck'), before taking the keys of the Impala, and disappearing for hours.

But the last few days had really been incredibly tiring and hectic, and he knew he deserved a little rest.

It was the 23rd, and they still had nothing. Not for lack of trying, though.

They had read everything about Christmas. The past, the present and the future ones. They could enumerate all the countries that celebrated it, and give detailed descriptions as to how each of them did that.

And they've talked to everyone, inspected every corner and street and pebble stone of the town without finding a clue.

But were there clues to find?

Maybe they've had it wrong since the beginning, and Jacobville was really a heavenly place to live in, with no dark side or Mr Hyde whatsoever.

Nothing strange had occurred during these days of intense searching, just an ordinary little town living its ordinary little Christmas.

Sam and Dean could testify it.

Every morning, USPS cherubs delivered the daily mail to the citizens.

Under their watchful eyes, hard-working house elves swept the snow away from the driveways.

People went to work like anyone does in any normal city, driving oh so normal low polluting sledges.

Police officers kept vigil over the good townspeople, mounted proudly on their reindeers (Dean was very fond of them).

No, nothing out of the ordinary there. Just kind, happy villagers. Old fashioned men who raised their Santa's hats to greet friends and acquaintances, happy women with red and green cloaks who visited relatives bringing sweets and cookies, happy kids who chased each other leaving footprints on the fresh snow with their elf shoes.

Of course, the guys did more than just watching. They didn't spare themselves to get to the root of things.

They went carolling.

At a evening recital of the living crib, Dean played an angel while Sam was a shepherd. It took him a two-hour bubble bath to make the smell of the sheep go away, but it was worth it.

They kissed _all_ the adult female population of Jacobville under the mistletoe.

Sam shared his experience in making home made decorations out of nothing with the local boy scout group, while Dean taught them the subtle art of producing presents out of thin air. Every Santa's helpers resident in town found his lessons quite fascinating, and they showed their appreciation giving them the perfect Christmas tree, that now stood proudly in a corner of the boys' room.

They had spent the previous night acquiring a first hand knowledge of 'traditional domestic life at Christmastime in normal families'. Since Mrs Dickens had invited them to dinner, they gave themselves up completely to watch 'Little Lord Fauntleroy', to play card games, and to help making the dough.

One of the reasons Sam was that tired in fact, was that in the morning he and Dean had woken up quite early, to make said dough into tons of delicious gingerbread cookies. They cut them, made colored frosting, baked them, and finally decorated them.

It surely was a hard job, but learning the fine art of making cooking complete with frosting and everything could make a great impression on the résumé of the perfect hunter.

All these activities had taken their toll, and Sam could admit to be exhausted. Exhausted, but happy. Happy at spending lots of quality time with his brother, at not being worried, once in a while, of scary monsters lurking in the dark, at finally having his much desired white Christmas.

Sill safely tucked under the covers, Sam basked in his happiness for a while, till his spider sense begun prickling.

But could there be anything wrong with being happy? Hell, they came here because people visiting Jacobville seemed suspiciously too happy, and—

Ops.

At the sudden realization, Sam rushed out of the bed and tried to get dressed as fast as he could. Tried being the operative word, since he stumbled over his brother's dirty clothes and to avoid staggering too close to the tree he crushed headfirst on the wall.

Gingerly touching his forehead, Sam could feel a bump already forming. But the tree was safe, and that was all that mattered. His delight wasn't even lessened by the fleeting, annoyed thought at his Dean's untidiness, and... and he was doing it again.

All that damn happiness was clouding his judgment, and clearly frying his short term memory.

Sam wondered if he was going to be sucked up again into that bubble of joy before Dean showed up, without remembering anything of this momentary lapse of consciousness. So, he quickly wrote the abridged version of his epiphany in an e-mail he sent to himself. He sighed in relief as soon as he clicked the 'send' button, and finally relaxed.

When the music of the screensaver filled his ears though, he caught himself humming along the notes of 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town', and another wave of panic swept through his body.

He wrote two notes, and placed them under his and Dean's pillow. Of course, it didn't help his crazed status that he had to read his sent mail to write a sensible account of what was happening.

Dean entered their room about half an hour later, and found his little bro writing on a post-it. Amused, he noticed that several of them were stuck anywhere in the room, on the headboard, on the window panes and on the walls. A few of them hung from the branches of the tree.

"So... still making paper decorations, Sammy?" Dean exclaimed, chuckling lightly.

Sam literally jumped out of his skin. He was so engrossed copying the same message over and over that he had missed his brother's entrance. But he recovered quickly, and run across the room to envelope said brother in a bone crushing hug. Finally, he wasn't alone anymore. He could share this insanity.

"Whoa there, dude! You haven't even seen your present yet!"

"You got me a present?"

"Yeah. A year's supply of post-it. And I got your fave, colored ones." Dean answered back, smirking. To make his point clear, his glance wandered through the room, looking at the notes scattered everywhere.

"Huh? Pos— Oh, god. Again." Sam run his hand through his hair, frustrated. He sat on his bad, sighing. As soon as Dean mirrored his position on his own bed, he peeked briefly at the little piece of paper still clutched in his hand, and asked him: "Where did you go, Dean?"

"Closest town. About 75 miles from here, can you believe it? And the weather was horrible for at least half of the way. Anyhow, I found what I was looking for and came back. But, what I'm pretty curious to know is what happened to _you_ in the meantime. You're freaking me out!"

"Just hear me out, okay? You drove for what? Three hours? And half of them in awful conditions, to get something that you couldn't find here. You're tired, cold, and definitely hungry", Sam countered, looking pointedly at Dean's rumbling stomach, "but you're smiling. And you were whistling 'Jingle Bells Rock' while you were coming up the stairs."

"So what? And then, I thought you didn't notice I was back. You jumped like a sissy."

"I didn't."

"Sure you did."

"I did not. I heard something, but I wasn't really paying attention. And that is not the point, anyway. The point is you're disturbingly happy when you should be annoyed, grumpy and whiney."

"And that's a bad thing because..."

"Except for the disturbingly part, you mean? Because you shouldn't be! I shouldn't be... and probably the whole town shouldn't! Do you even remember why we are here, Dean?"

"Yeah. Cuz you wouldn't let me look at semi-naked girls!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "And still, you're..."

"Disturbingly happy."

Dean's eyes widened, as the realization hit him hard. "Oh god. The brainwashing theory!"

"I'm convinced more than ever that it's a real possibility. When I was alone, even if I knew something was going on, I kept forgetting again. Suddenly, there was no need to be worried, just a random thought and I was 'happy' again. The tree, a Christmas song, or... did you say anything about a present?"

"There's a present, but it's not for you. It cost me 66.66 hardly earned bucks, since that DVDs store didn't accept my fake credit card, but it was worth it. I mean, she will be so happy and..." Dean trailed off, and looked at his brother. He had the impression of having said something wrong.

"And we could try slapping each other every time one of us says that damned word." Sam proposed, confirming his suspicions.

"Okay, this ends here. First, we write down, possibly not on post-its, what happened since we got here. Then, we look for the bad guy. If we go the other way round, there is the chance we forget why we are looking for something bad, since we're so deliriously happy and all."

"Sounds like a plan. Where do we start?"

"We start with..." Dean mumbled thoughtfully, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Suddenly, comprehension downed on him, and he just _knew_. He locked his eyes with Sam's, and talked with absolute certainty.

"With the chocolate."

"With the... _chocolate_. Right. Do you know it doesn't sound very evil, don't you?"

"Yeah. Pure innocent sweetness. But we never asked for it, smartass."

Sam's eyes were wide as saucers as he remembered the exact moment Dean was talking about. When they first arrived at Jacobville, they had stopped at Martha's diner, asking for coffee.

And they got chocolate.

"Do you think it was...? I can't believe it. Martha drugged us? With _chocolate_?"

"I don't know." Dean answered dejectedly. He didn't like that possibility either. "Maybe... maybe, she didn't know that. Someone else drugged the chocolate. And... they got addicted the whole town. Better?"

"We're still flying high in the realm of improbability, but yes, it does make me feel better. Let's start from here. Who's gonna write it down?"

It took hours to do it. Memories of the recent days popped out, suddenly strikingly weird now that the happy fog was lifted from their eyes. It wasn't easy though, not to go astray every so often.

Most of the times, as soon as one of them mentioned something odd or obviously impossible in the real world, the other remembered it, and unfailingly recalled how happy they were when it happened. They laughed together, eyes twinkling with joy, until awareness sunk in, and they sobered up, shuddering at their own actions and lack of will.

Other times, they were just beyond stunned. How strong that drug was, anyway?

"I can't believe we helped Snap, Crackle and Pop chopping wood!"

"Well, Dean, they weren't that strong, and... okay, I can't believe it either. _Now_. Back then, it seemed perfectly normal."

"Yeah, normal like helping a four year old little fairy to remove the snow from her wings after you taught her how to make snow angels, right?"

"Yeah, something like that." Sam agreed. He could have teased his brother merciless for years about it. Dean, a fairy, snow angels? Tempting, really tempting.

But Sam had his dirty secrets as well, involving directions and a snowman... so, he preferred to keep quite. Then, if he were lucky, Dean had missed the whole incident.

"Okay then, we have the scene now. We have to figure out who, and why. Any ideas, Sam?"

"The Grinch, Evil Santa, Santa's shady brother, or an anti-Claus?"

"Are you sure this is related to the old fat man?"

"It's Christmas, Dean. Everything is related to Santa Claus coming to town."

"You're not gonna sing now, are you?"

"Ha ha, very funny, bro. And your list of suspects?"

"Frosty the Snowman, I've already told you. I bet he gave you bad direction when you asked him at the crossing..." Dean replied, smirking.

"You're such a jerk, you know?"

"Yep. I never miss anything." Dean bragged. As soon as he caught in midair a little figurine that Sam had removed from the tree and tossed to him thought, he added hastily, "even if, sometimes, it could happen I don't realized that I notice it."

"If you say so..." Sam commented, amused. "Anyway, do you think these things are real, and for an unknown reason nobody realize Jacobville had been magically transferred to the Middle-earth, or the entire town, and everyone who comes here, is hallucinating?"

"No idea. And I don't even know what could be worse. To believe that the local postal service here employs angels, and finding it perfectly understandable, or to see angels floating around instead of real postmen swearing for the snow. And please don't jinx us, we haven't met Orcs till now!"

"There is another thing to consider. Everything around here is joyful, pleasant, endearing, and it brings happiness. Where's the evil, the price to pay, and... do you read the Lord of the Rings?" Sam asked, suddenly sidetracked.

"What, they made a book on those movies? There was that girl... definitely worth spending so much time in a dark place with. And it was fun, actually. Long, but fun. Epic battles, dwarves, cool weapons, horses – real ones, not reindeers – and demon creatures. And chicks with pointed ears? They're sexy, dude!" Dean stated, raising his eyebrow suggestively. "Anyway, there was no Christmas in the movies... but if there's at least one in the book, I bet sooner or later they make me read it too at that library."

"Nope, no Christmas there as well", Sam explained, "and that's a shame, actually. So, what now?"

"Bed, now. We're exhausted, and it's already Christmas Eve", Dean answered looking at his watch. "If something is gonna happen, it's today or tomorrow I bet. Better be rested."

"Okay. But what if tomorrow we won't remember anything?"

"We will", said Dean, already stretching. He put the little wooden fairy Sam had tossed him on his bedside table, and then added, "and if we won't, there is no way to avoid each one of the 742 colored post-its you decorated the room with, Sammy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean woke up first. He rubbed his eyes and yawned loudly, then finally got up.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" He shouted with a shrill voice to the lightly snoring form of his brother. After said form answered with a sudden jerk and a muffled growl, Dean headed to the bathroom, smiling and humming carelessly.

After a few paces though, he stumbled on the ends of his pyjama bottom, definitely too long for him. His quick reflexes prevented a sure fall on the ground, and he just shrugged, unaffected by the whole incident.

Once in the bathroom, he stood on tiptoes to reach the razor in the cabinet behind the mirror. He put it on the sink, and then looked attentively at his own reflection, feeling his cheeks with his fingertips. His flawless skin was smooth and silky, better than a baby's. No need for shaving duty that morning.

Satisfied, Dean rolled his sleeves up to avoid soaking them. He thought briefly to ask Mrs Dickens if she could be so kind to shorten them, since they almost covered his hands, hindering his movements.

He splashed his face with cold water to wash away the last remnants of sleep, then proceeded to wash his neck and behind his long and pointed ears, like good boys do.

Dean grinned at his reflection, showing perfect, little pearly teeth. Sparkling green eyes shone back with mischief, and a jolt of pure energy run through his body.

It was then that he noticed a yellow piece of paper stuck in a corner of the mirror. Dean's brows furrowed in concentration.

That meant something. Something he was supposed to remember. He took the post-it, reading the note. His eyes went back to the mirror, and he could see his own hand rise to his ear, tracing its edge up till the tip. The very pointed tip.

He distinctly remembered his admission of his penchant for pointed ears of the previous night. But he was talking about chicks, for hell's sake!

Dean rushed back in the bedroom at lightning speed. Sam was looking outside the window, his eyes following the snowflakes that kept falling. His brother reached for him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

Sam turned, looking at his eye level and finding nothing. He lowered his head about ten inches, and finally met his brother's stare.

The absence of disbelief in Sammy's eyes didn't surprise Dean. Nevertheless, his words died in his throat, and his lips frozen in a perfect 'O'. Then, he mutely passed the post-it to Sam.

While he was reading the note, Dean could see the comprehension dawning on his face. Abruptly, Sam's head shoot up, eyes widening in horror at his brother's elfish appearance.

"Oh god, Dean!" Sam uttered, shocked. "I... I don't know what to say..."

Dean exhaled, relaxing his shoulder. "That's all right, Sammy. I wouldn't know what to say either, if during the night some whatever had turned my nose into a red, glowing golf ball."

"What? Your nose is perfectly normal Dean. Maybe..." Sam trail off, moving his head left and right to observe him better, "maybe a tad thinner, but nobody's gonna notice that."

"For the matter, nobody's gonna notice that too", Dean replied, his slender finger pointing to his brother's dazzling nose, "but that doesn't mean we don't have a problem here, buddy."

Sam's eyes crossed in an almost comical way and fixed his nose for long minutes.

"Stop it, or you're gonna be stuck like that, Sammy. And if you add strabismus to that nose, you're never gonna get laid aga—"

A strangled sound escaped from Sam's lips, interrupting Dean's wise observation. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, and bolted the door.

Dean waited patiently for a good ten minutes, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He observed his body minutely. He was slender and lightly built now. And shorter. Go figure. Under the baby soft skin, he could feel the muscles rippling. They seemed made for speed and endurance more than for strength, but hey, he could live with that. At least, nobody could see his nose glowing in the dark an— oh god, Sam!

"Sam? You still there?" Dean tried, talking to the wooden door.

"Sammy?"

"Come on, dude!"

"Will you come out?"

"I gotta pee!"

"Stop being a baby!"

"I won't call you Rudolph, I swear!"

"Listen Sam. We're fighting evil here... I'm not your girlfriend, and you don't have a pimple on your nose! Will you come out, and behave like an adu—"

Dean was interrupted by a furious Sam who slammed the door open, and rushed out. He stopped abruptly in front of Dean, towering on him.

Dean bravely tried not to look at his brother's nose, but that _thing_ was simply too... red. Moreover, the determined look in Sam's eyes clashed painfully with his most prominent feature, and Dean had to fight hard not to giggle.

He concentrated on answering to Sam's question instead.

"Well, finding out who did this", he said, opening his arms as to indicate more than just them, "is already on the to-do list. In any case, now we know we're not hallucinating."

"Oh yes. This makes me feel real better, thank you."

"Sarcasms won't help, Sammy. I look like an elf, and you look like... whatever", Dean added hastily while Sam glared at him, "but we're still _us_. We are not what we look like, and we can't trust what we see. We can judge by appearances."

"Well, _that_'s really helpful, Dean. And what if we don't know how?"

"We'll learn."

Sam and Dean's gaze locked, as the familiar words rang in their ears.

The image of a boyish face came to their mind, and they remembered joyful eyes sparkling with mischief and a shadow of ancient wisdom. And his words, half a playful thread, half a promise.

Finally, Santa Claus had bought them the first clue.

They dresses up quickly, but Dean's stern refusal to wear the green panty hose that lay conveniently on a chair slowed them down. Sam impatiently helped him with his old jeans, which had to be cuffed a few times at the end, and rolled up at the waist that, considerably slimmer than before, required new holes in the belt.

Much to Dean's dismay though, they couldn't find any workable solutions for his shoes. His own were too big now, making it impossible walking without falling, let alone running. Of course, it was unthinkable to go out wearing only the socks.

Dean looked at the leather shoes that had magically appeared during the night together with the panty hose and the brown jacket that he was currently wearing.

He looked at their curling tips, and swore loudly.

As soon as Sam had convinced his older brother that his shoes were perfectly normal, at least for an elf, and that Dean had convinced his younger brother that nobody would even notice his nose, they finally left their room.

Before they could gain the exit though, the granny stopped them. They couldn't help feeling embarrassed, but of course the old lady didn't find anything weird in their new appearance.

"Oh, my darling boys!" she called, "leaving already? And without breakfast! Don't you know the breakfast is the most important meal of the day? Especially for young people, who still has to grow up!"

Dean blushed furiously at her last comment, the color on his cheeks quickly matching his brother's nose.

He heard a barely contained laughter in the tone of Sam's voice, when he politely declined, and glared at him for good measure.

"Are you sure, darlings? I can make you a steaming cup of hot chocolate!"

"Ch... chocolate?" Sam stuttered.

"Thank you so much for your concern, ma'am", Dean answered, suddenly very pale, "but we really must go now. Goodbye!"

The brothers run to safety outside the Inn, and then stopped.

Where to, now? They could be right in their intuition, but they had no idea where to look for the alleged culprit. There was the park of course, but it was quite unlikely to find him there again.

Since Jacobville had lost any sense of reality for the holiday though, obviously they did find him there, skating serenely on the frozen pound.

And waiting for them.

"I knew you'd figure something out sooner or later. Actually, I thought it was gonna be a little sooner." He said cheekily approaching them.

"Sorry you had to wait, brat. But your warning was a little cryptic, you know?" Dean countered. Then, with a swift movement he tripped the kid up, and he fell to the ground.

Dean blocked him with the weight of his body, that wasn't that much but it was enough for their suspect. He gripped his jacket then, and asked with a deceitful sweet voice: "Why don't you explain everything to us from the beginning, in short words that our simple minds could grasp?"

"Dean! Come on, Dean..." Sam interrupted, trying to retain his brother, "it's just a kid. And you can't manhandle a kid!"

The youngster, who under Dean's assault had kept his smirk firm in place, unexpectedly reacted to Sam's words.

"A kid? Do you still think I'm a kid?" he hissed, outraged. "You haven't learned anything! Do.not.judge.by.appearances. And yet, you believe what you see. I'm disappointed, really."

"So... You're not a kid, then?"

"Duh. I'm 243 year old, jerk!"

"What? Two hund— aargh!" Sam finished the sentence with a strangle sound. He shoved Dean away from the 'kid', sending him rolling on the snow, and begun knocking their enemy on the snow.

"You bastard!" Thud. "What have you done to my nose?" Thud, thud. "Doping innocent people!" Thud. "Brainwashing them!" Thud. "And my freakin NOSE!" Thud, thud, thud.

"Sam. Sam! Stop it now! You're twice his size, dude. Not that I think he doesn't deserve it, but we're in the open, and people will see just a helpless kid bein—"

Swish!

It was just a blur, really. But Sam found himself flat on his back, with Dean sprawled next to him.

"Helpless kid? Now we're calling names, are we? Violence and badmouthing. I was expecting a little more from you, I'll say."

The Winchesters looked up. They saw the same boy, and yet a different creature. Ears definitely pointing up now, finer bone structure, and a strong musky scent. But the main dissimilarities were in his eyes. They had suggested more since the beginning, but now they revealed their owner's true nature.

Wisdom mixed with innocence, mischief soothing the hint of danger and the hidden power.

"Maybe we call you names cuz we don't know your real name!" Dean growled, not pleased at all that such a little creature could send them both flying without an effort.

"Puck. The name's Puck."

"What? Are you kidding me?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"My parents loved the Bard, okay? And they're elves, so yes, twisted sense of humor here."

"And you did take after them for sure. What's this beard thing anyway? Whatever. I don't care. So, this whole thing is a just a big joke?"

"Joke? What are you talking about? This was a punishment!"

"Huh? The people here offended you or something, and you..." Sam tried to come up with anything, but the reality couldn't be ignored, "drugged them till they die from too much induced happiness?" He finished with a grimace at his own lame hypothesis.

"Wait, wait!" Puck said, raising his hand in mock surrender, "what's this drug thing? It's the second time you mention it."

"It's... in the chocolate?" Dean said, tentatively.

"Drugged chocolate? Where?"

"Well, it was just a theory, okay?" Sam shouted back, angrily.

"You thought that all this was due to _drugged chocolate_? For Galadriel's sake! I walked this earth for over two centuries doing magic, and they accuse me of doping candy! Now I'm really offended here."

"Better we don't mention Frosty, huh?" Dean murmured to his brother, and then added, louder, "So... care to explain?"

"It's just my own Miracle on 34th Street, what else? And then, it's what we elves do. Well, my family, anyway."

"You lost us here, dude."

"As Kris Kringle said, 'Christmas isn't just a day, it's a frame of mind'. Children know it. But grown ups? They forget. A lot. There's capitalism, and consumerism and plain stupidity and selfishness. So, we made happen a miracle here and there, as a reminder."

"Couldn't you use post-its? Ouch!" Dean cried out, as his brother's elbow made painfully contact with his ribs.

"You said it's a family thing..." Sam prompted.

"Yeah, Christmas it's the family business. We just love old Uncle Nick, you know? And then, you've got to specialize, these days. There are elves for everything... trees, streams, minerals. Of course, the ones who look after cute fuzzy animals are the snottiest."

"Yeah, right. So, one of you comes to a town, waves their wand and magically everyone go crazy about Christmas?"

"Ehi! I don't have any wand. And I don't people make do anything they don't wanna do. I... nudge. And prod, and encourage. People want to be happy, but sometimes they forgot it. They're too busy living. Christmas is a special period of the year, and it's easier to make them remember."

"You mean... no drugs, and no infectious disease?"

"But happiness is infectious, Dean! I worked hard on Jacobville at the beginning, but once they begun rolling, nobody could stop them. That's way they were able to 'infect' random people just passing by, and the two of you. Once you came here, you forgot your worries, and enjoyed the season, each other's company, and the simple pleasure of life."

"Okay, let's say we buy that. You talked about punishment before... And I still don't get why everything turned into a Christmas' cartoon here, like my nose!"

"He's right. I'm still kinda cool, you know... but Sammy? At least, you should have given him horns to match that red thing!"

"Horns? You're not helping here, dude!" Sam shouted, too angry with his brother to remember that the actual culprit was standing right there.

"You were funny to deal with, you know? I just love your bickering. It made things interesting", Puck explained. "Anyway, I was punished, okay? In the last decades, I got sick of humankind. They are too selfish for their own good, and they didn't wanna be helped. They didn't believe, didn't see, didn't listen. We don't do what we do for a reward, but some gratitude and appreciation make you feel better. So, I just wanted to quit, and maybe trying gardening or horse grooming. But mom shunted me here. Apprentices deal with small towns; I'm supposed to manage bigger things. I guess she wanted me to remember too."

"You're saying you were punished?" Sam interjected, "at 243 years?"

"You don't want to get involved with my mother, I promise. And then, I'm not that old. In human years, I'm like 25 more or less."

"You still have to explain my nose, you know? And all those weird and incredible things that everyone found normal."

"Don't you want a little surprise for tomorrow, then?"

Sam glared at the elf, and turned to Dean for moral support.

The guy was trying to balance a snow ball on the curled end of his shoe, and earned a smack upside the head.

"Hey! Stop doing that. I'm still your older brother, no matter what's my current size!"

"I was sent here to make the town people feel the spirit of Christmas again", Puck interrupted the brothers, rolling his eyes, "and maybe, to remember it myself. And I believe I did a good job. They are sincerely happy now. And I must say, I am too."

Puck sighed, then climbed on a bench and sat on its back.

"But the first days? They were horrible. I was bored out of my skull, angry and resentful at my mom. Of course, I'm not that bad to take it out innocent people (and if I did, my mother would have chopped me into juicy bits and fed me to the trolls), nevertheless, I had to get it out of my system. I was supposed to bring them Christmas, and I did get them the whole shebang. With singing angels and reindeers on top."

"Or reindeer's noses, you mean. Do you really think it's funny?"

"Well, yes. That was me having fun. I just can't help being impish, you know? Too much goodness could make me sick, and I had to mitigate it someway. And then, no one noticed. I didn't want screaming people running away after seeing their neighbor turned into a nymph parking her sledge in the driveway. It wouldn't have been very Christmassy."

"You got a thing for sledges, don't you?"

"They don't pollute."

"Right. So... are these the 'bigger things' you are supposed to manage?" Dean asked with a sneer.

"Smartasses are on the naughty list, you know that, don't you?" Puck exclaimed, exasperated. Then, he explained his family business.

"Big things are turning Scrooges into philanthropies, and believe me, summoning the ghosts of the past, present and future Christmas it's a hard job. Convincing a lawyer - a _lawyer_ for hell's sake! - to defend an old man who believes he is the real Santa Claus. Making the snow fall at improbable latitudes it's quite difficult too (I made an exception on this one, I know), but asking an angel to help a broken and suicidal man not to commit suicide on Christmas Eve was actually easier. Even if we had to find him a pair of wings that fit him. And there was that time when we killed the Grinch tha—"

"What?" Sam interrupted, horror stricken, "but he reformed himself!"

"That was the Disney version, you moron!" Puck countered, annoyed.

"Okay. We get it. Big things. But, talking about big things... _big and red_ things... what about my nose? Are you gonna do something about it, like _now_?"

"Oh come on, Sammy! Stop being that self-centred and whiney. It's like you haven't got at all the whole lesson here!" Dean chastised his brother like he were a little child, almost successfully hiding the mirth from his voice.

"It's easy to talk for you, jerk! You've got this great lithe body with sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks and cool pointed ears, while I got stuck wit—"

"Do you really think Dean looks quite good like that, don't you?" Puck interjected, sounding curious.

"Do I th— Oh, no! That's completely gross. It's _Dean_'s body were talking about!" Sam spat, thoroughly revolted.

"Oh, I see", the elf clarified, "you would find it hot, if it weren't your brother's."

Lucky for Sam, the brilliant red of his nose could shadow any other crimson nuances that colored his face. He glared at Puck's words, uttered without malice maybe for the first time, and at Dean's eloquent sniggering.

"You are some kind of evil, I just know it", Sam stated, shaking his head in defeat.

"It's just that" he added then, almost pouting, "he always gets to be the cute one. At the representation he played an angel, with wings and everything. I had to shepherd sheep, and he was an _angel_, for god's sake!

"And you didn't even have that shiny little thing to guide them through inclement weather then!" Dean exclaimed in wonder.

"You'll have your own nose back soon, I promise", Puck said, after physically restraining Sam from killing his brother. No way he was letting happen something like that. It would totally ruin his Christmas, after all.

"After tomorrow, Puck's personal live rendition of 'Christmas is all around' will end, every poetic licenses I took on reality will fade, and everything will be back to normal. You won't forget it, I guess, but for the others it will be like waking up after you've had the weirdest dream. They will remember bits and pieces, some odd memories that won't make any sense. But they'll recall the happiness and the joy they felt. If you dream of being happy, when you wake up that feeling doesn't go away, it stays with you all day long, making it easier to go through the day. It will be the same for them, and hopefully it will make it easier to go on with their life. Not bad, huh?"

"No, not bad." Sam agreed, his outstanding nose momentarily forgotten. "And then, I got what I wanted."

"What do you wanted, Sammy?"

"A white Christmas." Puck answered for him.

Dean just smiled at that, but added cheekily, "And I got to be right. As I previously stated, all 'this' is because of 'an evil creature bent on making people happy'."

"Yeah, you got it all right", Sam commented, smiling too. "So, Dean... what now? The hunt ends here, we caught the big bad."

An annoyed coughing and the suddenly intensifying of the brightness of his nose made Sam backpedal a little.

"Metaphorically speaking, anyway."

"What can we do now, Sammy?" Dean asked, and turned to look at the frozen pond.

He stood there for a few moments, head turned up a little to enjoy the feeling of the cold snowflakes melting on his face. It hadn't stopped snowing since the brothers had arrived in Jacobville, and everything was covered with a soft blanket of snow. Puck was right. It was a dream, a fairytale where, for once, everyone had their happy end.

It didn't matter that it was going to melt with the snow, really. The memories would linger, and they would warm the hearts of all of them who had been lucky enough to be in the elf's playground, even during the coldest winter they could ever have (well, no need to remember here that Jacobville was in California, after all. It would spoil the effect).

Dean thought briefly at the last horrible Christmases, spent trying to convince himself that it was nothing more than a red date on the calendar. The truth was, Sam wasn't the only one who wanted a white Christmas. Dean wanted back the scrawny little boy who jumped around in a dingy motel room and couldn't wait for midnight to get his presents.

Well, both of them had got what they wanted, Dean mused, thinking of Sam's present, safely tucked under the hood of the Impala. He had bought another one this year, that lay under a big tree in the owners' living room, at the Inn. And, against all odds, he must have been good this year, because he knew he got one too. Sam had never been that good at hiding thing from his older brother, anyway.

Dean finally turned back. He met Puck's gaze briefly, and silently expressed his thanks like only the elves can do. Then he looked at his brother, a real smile dancing on his lips.

"Now... we'll enjoy the snow, Sammy".

THE END


End file.
